My Week with Marilyn Read Online Free PDF Page A

sir. Just doing my job.’
    Cursing, I had to leave the car on the grass verge and run down the long drive to the studio. The MG had not been as fast as my Lancia, and I was late.
    â€˜What happened to you, boy?’ asked Olivier as I panted into his dressing room.
    â€˜My car broke down. I’ll have to sort it out at lunchtime.’ I didn’t dare mention what had really happened. ‘I don’t think Marilyn will be in early,’ I said. ‘Roger told me she had a pretty disturbed night.’
    â€˜We ’ll have a pretty disturbed day if she doesn’t show up. We shot all the simple stuff yesterday because she was so woolly. When is she going to recover her composure and start to work?’
    â€˜She ’s on her honeymoon, I suppose. Maybe that ’s affecting her.’
    â€˜Oh, nonsense, she’s not a schoolgirl. And Arthur’s getting fed up too. He told me he needs a holiday already.’ Olivier grimaced. ‘The trouble is that she ’s so damn moody, and she stays up most of the night. I pity Arthur. I wouldn’t sleep with Marilyn for a million dollars, I can assure you of that.’
    Nor her with you, I thought, but I said nothing.
    Just before lunch, to everyone’s surprise, and my great relief,
Marilyn did show up after all. The usual bunch of people materialised out of thin air to pester the poor lady, but I only had eyes for Evans, the chauffeur. I did not have time to worry about whether Marilyn had seen me the night before or not, but I did most urgently need to get the MG back to Ned. Even so, I was anxious to avoid Marilyn’s direct gaze. She wears very dark glasses when she first arrives at the studio, and one can never be quite sure how much she can see. By the time she was ready to start work, I imagined, she would be thinking of nothing but her lines.
    â€˜Where have you been?’ asked David Orton suspiciously as I slipped back onto the stage an hour later, Evans having driven me back from Runnymede House.
    â€˜Tummy upset,’ I said.
    He glowered, but I was home.
    Filming that afternoon followed the now-familiar pattern. We all wait around the set under the ‘work’ lights for Marilyn to appear. Every quarter of an hour, Olivier tells David to go to Marilyn’s dressing room to ask when she will be ready. David is a professional of the old school. He believes in a chain of command.
    â€˜Colin!’ he shouts.
    â€˜Yes, David?’
    â€˜Go to Miss Monroe’s dressing room and ask when she will be ready.’
    This of course is her portable dressing room, right there on the studio floor. From the outside, the thing looks like a caravan on a building site. Inside it is all soft lights and beige fabrics, like Parkside House.
    I tap on the thin metal door. The make-up man or the wardrobe lady answers my knock. ‘Not yet,’ they whisper. It is as if we are all waiting for someone to give birth – and in a way, I suppose we are.
    Finally, and without any warning, the doors fly open and Marilyn appears, looking absolutely gorgeous in the incredible white costume designed for her to wear in her role as the chorus girl Elsie Marina
by ‘Bumble’ Dawson. Her head is held high, she has a little smile on her lips, her huge eyes are open wide, and her gaze is fixed upon the set. Marilyn is ready. Marilyn is going to do it now, or die in the attempt.
    A shout from David. (David has, and needs, a very loud voice, as there are over fifty impatient people present.)
    â€˜Ready, studio!’
    The film lights come on, one after another, with a series of terrific ‘clunks’.
    Marilyn looks startled. Paula, ever present an inch from her elbow, whispers something in her ear. Marilyn hesitates for a split second . . . and is lost.
    Instead of going straight to her marks in front of the camera, she deflects to her ‘recliner’ positioned nearby. Paula, the make-up man, the hair stylist and